


Some Things Are Harder Than Others, Part Two - The Other Side Of The Coin

by DixieDale



Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Garrison's Gorillas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24945826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Told from the viewpoint of Craig Garrison and Meghada O'Donnell
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	Some Things Are Harder Than Others, Part Two - The Other Side Of The Coin

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place after the war, during timeline of story 'Duration Plus Six Months'.

They'd had no warning, no opportunity to step in and get the guys to safety. That 'new broom' arriving from Washington had been too quick to 'sweep out the trash' as they put it, and the guys had been swept up and gone in a flurry of activity that would have been better suited to an armed invasion of an enemy outpost than the Mansion with its few guards and a group of Allied Special Forces operatives not likely to be raising their weapons in opposition.

Garrison had been first on the scene, able to retrieve some of the personal belongings of his team, but not in time to prevent the men from being spirited away or to determine where they'd been taken. He hadn't even been able to find out what condition they were in, though the reports from the manager at the local pub had pointed to some damage accorded to each. 

Having received two, well, really three separate warn-offs from the military, having being told to keep his distance, that the guys were no longer his concern, hadn't gone down well with him. That wouldn't have stopped him from somehow TRYING to undo what had been done, any more than the threat of a Dishonorable Discharge had, though all together it made it obvious his avenues for fighting were rapidly closing down. Only the guarded message from Corbin at the local pub gave him hope, and he rushed off to find help from someone he knew would NOT turn her back.

Meghada, returning in a rush after she'd gotten the news, met him in London. She was livid, but was told firmly by the Clan Grandmother that the Clan was dealing with things, to stand down, keep her temper under control, and to keep Garrison under control as well. 

Convincing Garrison of that hadn't been easy, and she knew she wouldn't be able to get him to stand down for very long. Well, SHE didn't intend to stand down for very long herself. That was Goniff out there somewhere - Goniff and Chief, Casino and Actor. They were FAMILY! 

She knew one thing - by the time it was all over, those idiots who pulled this stunt were going to learn exactly what that meant!!

They'd made their way back to Brandonshire by the back way, her going openly to the Cottage, him concealed in the back of the car, and dug in. 

They waited, teeth clinched, ready to explode by the time they'd gotten the word. The guys were back in the prisons from which they'd been recruited, in solitary confinement, for their own protection. 

Well, at least they knew the men were alive, relatively safe. But after a week, the two waiting still had not been let in on any plans for getting them free.

Garrison had raged over that, that "anything could be happening and we would never know!"

Meghada had slowed him down, got him to stop pacing, took him firmly by the shoulders, shook him gently til he would listen to what she was trying to tell him.

"We would know! There are watchers in place, Craig; I told you that. The wardens have been given instructions so strict, with such dire warnings, they will be watching over them most carefully out of self-preservation if nothing else. They are in solitary, each of them, with only carefully selected guards having any contact. The military has watchers in place as well, although their goals are, admittedly, more to see if there is any incriminating information they might obtain through that observation. 

"But, Craig? WE have watchers too! THEY watch to be sure there is no movement against the men; they watch to be sure food is delivered properly, that there is no mistreatment or neglect. And our watchers will have no qualms about taking quick and furious action if it is needed. 

"Backup is quite close at hand in each case. The number of people involved in looking out for them is bigger even than the Murdock operation, and you remember how many teams, how many operatives had their fingers in THAT pie!"

That helped calm him down a little, but then just started him on "if they CAN take action, why . . ."

"Because the action would be very costly, probably cost lives - not theirs, certainly not by intent, but any loss of life in THIS operation is to be avoided if possible. Grandmother has determined there is a better way, one that will be better for THEM in the long run. She is working on a way to let them walk out, free, without such extreme measures. Spilling blood would best be avoided, you know that; these are not enemy installations, enemy soldiers, remember. I don't like the waiting, you know that as well! I ache that they are out there alone, just as you do. Believe me, I have argued for swifter action, have pleaded to be more involved, and I have been turned down."

She harrumphed in annoyance. "It would appear no one seems to trust me to not do something 'precipitous'. And no more do they trust you, in case you are wondering. It would appear someone has been reading the reports of our missions, reading our files, Craig," she told him, with a decided pout to her mouth, though there was a twitch of amusement there as well.

That got a reluctant snort of laughter from Garrison. "Our files? Yes, that would do it, alright," he admitted, "although arranging a prison break - well, four separate prison breaks, in the States, at that - might be beyond even us. Though if they are in there much longer, we might want to discuss that. I wonder - "

There was something in the sudden squint of his eyes, in the set of his jaw that told her he was quite serious. Her lips twitched again, thinking how much he had grown, matured since she'd first met him, first wondered if he truly could be trusted with the men's welfare. He was becoming more and more Clan every day, less and less an Outlander. She was really quite proud of him.

"Craig?? Perhaps we could discuss it now, just in case. Would you like to see the blueprints of each of the prisons, Craig, the roster and personnel files of those assigned there, including the wardens? Maybe their financial situations, any secrets they would prefer to go unknown, little areas of vulnerability, and various other such items? I just happen to have those in the office," she offered with a look of pure innocence.

He nodded eagerly, but then followed with a snort and a quick incredulous shake of his head. 

"You just HAPPEN to have all that - I see. And yes, I think I would like to take a look, just in case."

As she brought him all she had gathered from a variety of sources, she knew this was the right move. Researching all this would keep him, his restless mind, occupied. {"And who knows? It might actually BE necessary, and no one can think through a plan with a multitude of moving parts quite like Craig. It would be well to have something in our pocket, ready and waiting, should Plan A not be feasible and we need to take immediate action. And - it's not such a bad thing, even if not needed THIS time, to have a plan for those four prisons. It might be worthwhile adding a few others to the list as time goes by - just to keep his wits, his skills sharp, of course. Well, everyone needs a hobby."}

Would any of that have surprised the Clan Grandmother? No, not really. She knew Meghada quite well, had since she'd been born, and indeed, HAD read both their files, kept up with their mission reports. And she knew there was little time to waste before those two decided they had waited long enough and took action of their own. She really did want to avoid that, and not just because it was likely to get bloody, or at least create more complications than she thought adviseable. 

Frankly, she liked the men on Garrison's team, had come to think of them as Family - all of them, not just Goniff and Garrison. And, although the Outlanders seemed to have forgotten, or maybe the Clan had been too forebearing in the distraction of this war, one just did not threaten harm to one of the Clan without arousing the ire of the Clan itself. It was past time for a little reminder.

It had been just at two weeks. Her own people had the information she needed now, and the right strings had been twitched into place, the right calls made, the final responses received. Now it was time to put all of that into play, but WITHOUT the disruptive presence of those two passionate young people. 

This would be best carried out with cold deliberate calm, not with heated emotion. They wouldn't be happy with being kept on the sidelines, had been most clear about that, but it would go better that way. 

And perhaps there was a little bit of selfishness in that decision; she'd been on desk duty for a very long time now, was ready to wield a sword again, if only verbally at her age. In fact, she was looking forward to the upcoming engagement most fervently. {"They are going to discover I have one good temper tantrum left in me!"}

She glanced at Teya as her assistant stuck her head in the door. 

"Sorry, Grandmother, but Craig Garrison is on the phone. He's asking to speak with you. He is a charmer, isn't he? And just as cunning and stubborn as I've heard. I DO like him."

Sighing with a combination of annoyance and sympathy, the old woman nodded, "yes, I will speak with him. And yes, Teya, I like him too. I will endeavor NOT to lose my temper with the boy. Much, anyway. But if he is thinking he can charm me into giving way - well, there was a time, perhaps, but luckily for us all, with age comes wisdom . . ."

And Teya smirked knowingly, and the two continued on in unison with something so often said in this office "and patience and forebearance and calmness and a certain placidity of temperament, along with the capacity of giving a measured response to those less favored with those attributes."

That such things were NOT the predominant traits of the older woman, well . . .

"Impudent young rascal!", and Teya laughed, knowing that was directed as much at her as to the man waiting on the other end of the phone.

Listening to the sharp dressing-down the unfortunate Garrison was now receiving, Teya nodded to herself and laughed again, softly. {"Yes, it's a good thing she has 'mellowed' over the years. However, Meghada has NOT, so . . ."}

Yes, efforts were underway to get the men free, and Garrison and Meghada had been told, both of them, to STAND DOWN!!! Take no action, just stand down and wait!!! That hadn't gone down very well, no, not at all. Not then, not now, nearly two weeks later. Neither were really the 'stand down' type, neither Craig Garrison, the Warden, OR Meghada O'Donnell, the Dragon of Clan O'Donnell.

Now, at the Cottage of Meghada O'Donnell, in Brandonshire, Craig Garrison hung up the phone, slowly, carefully, not slamming it down as he obviously would have preferred, but there was a certain controlled violence in the precision with which he handled the task that would have told anyone just how unhappy he was with that conversation.

Meghada looked up from where she was sanding the kitchen table. It was a good thing it had been a very sturdy wooden farmhouse table when she bought it some years ago, for all the times she'd had to sand down the top. Still, there was a limit - by the time this interminable waiting was over, if she did it too many more times, she might have to be looking at replacing it. The poor thing was getting absolutely wavy, to say the least!

Well, truly she hadn't HAD to sand it again - it could have waited. Besides, that's what she'd always thought tablecloths were for, at least for the short-term, to hide the claw-marks, at least in the household of a Clan Dragon where such events were inevitable. But sanding had been one way to pass the hours that seemed to drag like weeks. 

Now, looking at the occasional claw mark that went too deep even to BE sanded away without destroying the complete stability of the structure, she realized that tossing on a tablecloth would have been a much better bet. Those odd dips and valleys, they were going to play havoc with the safe landing of any bowls or dishes. She'd have to be careful of overfilling such, certainly, for fear of spillage.

Somehow, while she was involved in the slow, repetitive task of sanding, that and weeding the garden or even many other unrelated undemanding tasks, her mind would drift off, searching for the one whose presence they were missing so much, and she'd lose control of the pressure being applied, or the force she was using with the hoe, or even the timing and texture while beating sweet cream. That one section of the garden was going to have to be totally replanted, as a result. And they now had a surfeit of butter in the ice box from such unattention, which was fine, of course, was never unwelcome, but it didn't go nearly so well on the sponge cakes as the whipped cream she'd intended. Not that either of them were really in the mood for sponge cakes, not when Goniff couldn't be there to share in the treat. The last batch of cakes had made their way to Old Howie and Mrs. Wilson, totally untouched, and at least three containers of butter pats had found eager recipients.

Still, while going about her chores, she'd drift and when she would eventually come back to her senses, smiling or even laughing, would turn and start to tell Craig what she and Goniff had just been discussing, and then her smile would fade as she took in her surroundings, and she'd give herself a brisk shake. 

Sometimes the chore had been accomplished, sometimes not, but that was not what was important. The contact, the interaction was.

Those conversations seemed so real, had BEEN so real, though she hadn't much cared for the accommodations, {"could there have BEEN a thinner mattress on that bunk??!"}, and her laddie REALLY needed different clothes! Prison garb didn't become him and didn't look overly comfortable either; he would have been much better off in his jeans and one of his cotton chambray shirts. She just wished she could bring him such on her next visit, but was rather at a loss as to how to accomplish that. Besides, it would probably just create confusion, perhaps trouble for her laddie on the other end, she realized with some frustration. That quandry, that frustration, she would pour out to Garrison, pacing and waving her arms in the process.

Craig would listen, stare, then he'd shake his head in his own frustration. "I wish I could do that, conjure him up that easily, that completely," he'd say, meaning every word of it, never doubting her experience, the truth of it, just envying it mightily. He'd tried, could almost get to that point, but then it was as if a door had shut. Not slammed, but closed, softly, gently, with true regret, but also with firm resolve. And somehow, he could hear Goniff's voice, a quiet but stern, "no, Craig. It's not safe, not for you, not like it is for 'Gaida. Wish it was, more than mostly anything, but it's not." 

Still, even hearing Goniff's voice, that was something. Not nearly enough, but something.

No, he wouldn't tease her for her woolgathering; would just gather her close in comfort - comfort desperately needed by both of them. Nothing more, just comfort shared; anything else, anything more - no, that didn't enter the picture, not now.

Now, stretching her back, flexing her hand, watching him standing there staring at that phone, lips tight with annoyance, she asked, "no joy?" 

She knew what the answer was, had known even before he picked up the phone in the first place, but she needed to get him talking or he'd twist up inside, start brooding and start blaming himself for the current situation, which would do no one any good, as well as being totally misguided. This was NOT his fault! 

Goniff usually took care of dealing with Craig's convoluted emotions, true, but now, in his absence, she stepped in to do what she could. To her mind, it was just another way of caring for her Englishman. How could she do other than try her best to take proper care of the man Goniff cherished so?

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, he sighed. "No joy. I thought maybe if I talked to her, instead of you . . . But you're right; I could have spared myself the breath. No offense intended, Meghada, but I have to tell you, the Clan's Grandmother is really a piece of work, you know??!"

Meghada snorted in something less than amusement, though totally in agreement. 

"That is one way of putting it, I suppose. I've heard similar opinions expressed in various ways; have done so myself on more than one occasion. 

"But, she truly DOES have a plan, Craig. She told me so, wouldn't lie about that. I trust her for that, though I do NOT appreciate her telling me to back off and leave it in her 'more experienced hands'. And she truly IS committed to getting Goniff and the guys back quickly and safely. And it's not just because of his, their connection to me; SHE considers him, you and the others, Clan; action taken against any of you is action taken against the Clan, in her eyes. 

"She would, and DOES, take this whole matter as a personal and professional insult, to her, to the Clan, and she's not going to just smile and swallow that, I can assure you. This isn't the first incident with the bigwigs and their minions, and while she's held her hand due to the war and the joint mission of defeating the Nazi's, I get the impression she is thoroughly fed up with them and their ways, and now that is behind us, is just raring to let them know it. 

"It's just that she has this contrary streak a mile wide, and she doesn't much like anyone looking over her shoulder or expecting her to explain herself, then second-guessing her."

Garrison sighed in frustration. "Yes, so you've said. I just thought - well, I knew you two have a complicated history, and thought that she might enjoy twisting the knife a little with you. But I thought maybe she'd not take it so personally if I was the one asking. Guess I was wrong," he admitted ruefully.

"Are your ears still attached, Craig, they didn't melt away? Did fire come out of the phone and set your hair on fire?? Then you were right, she DID take it better than she would have me asking her - yet again. I was threatened with both those things the third call I made."

Just then the phone rang, and they both jumped. The waiting was not having a positive effect on their nervous systems, they'd be the first to admit, yet for seasoned warriors, it WAS a little embarrassing.

Meghada was the one who picked it up, Craig's presence here not being widely-known outside a favored few, and probably best kept that way. One highly-exasperated official in London had suggested depositing him by force, under guard, on a plane headed back to the States, and once there, finding ways to keep "his mind on his OWN troubles, and we can see that he has plenty of those to occupy himself with!" Luckily they'd heard about that in time for Garrison to effectively disappear off the radar scope.

"Yes? Teya?? Cousin, what do you have for me??"

Garrison poured himself a cup of coffee, wondering what even a heavily-creamed version of the sturdy brew Meghada was known for would do to nerves already stretched to the breaking point, but needing the jolt of energy. Too many nights with too little sleep, and he couldn't decide anymore which was worse, being off balance from being sleep-deprived or being off balance from jangled nerves from the waiting and the worry, or as a result of Meghada's high-test coffee.

Watching the anxious frown on the redhead's face turn to one of intense concentration, he sat the cup aside. He had a feeling coffee wasn't going to do the trick, for him or for her. Reaching into the cabinet behind him, he pulled out glasses and the bourbon bottle. He had them already in the middle of the table, wondering a little at the odd tilt to the bottle, when he realized what he'd done, winced at that third glass retrieved from ingrained habit. Still, he left it there; it seemed wrong, disrespectful somehow, to remove it and put it back in the cabinet.

"Yes, of course, Teya. You'll keep me informed, yes? And make sure Kevin knows? He just HAS to be there! Either him or Jeffrey or Joyce - SOMEONE in our corner! Tell them, whoever!, to take notes, at least mental ones. I want all the details, every last scrap!"

There was a smile on her face now - not a particularly pleasant one, true, more one someone (a thoroughly uncivilized someone!) might wear at learning their worst enemy was just about to step on a land mine, but one that he found oddly comforting at a visceral level. He once would have found that reaction appalling, shocking. Now, he was just eager to learn what had brought that smile to her face, hoping it would create an echo on his, maybe relieve some of the aching inside.

Getting the reassurances she was wanting, she hung up the phone, drew a deep breath and walked over and sat down, took another deep breath before explaining what was now in play to the impatient man now handing her a brimming glass. 

She had seen that extra glass sitting there, didn't mention it, but understood how easy that would be to do without even thinking. How many times had she reached for the eggs, or the jars of broth, the larger baking pan instead of the small one, before catching herself, preventing that preparation of far too much food for just Craig and herself, though just enough if their ever-hungry laddie had been there. {"Soon, soon we can let the old habits resurface. Sweet Mother, I swear, I ache for that time!!"}

"What the Grandmother obviously felt we didn't need to know, one of my cousins thought we DID, thankfully! There's a meeting set up with the 'masterminds' in London, a really big one, in the morning, and she's going to - I think the expression is 'lower the boom' - on the whole lot of them. Teya will let Kevin Richards know; if he can be there, him or one of the others who are truly one of the Clan Friends, that might be the only good description we have of what happens, since I doubt the OTHERS will be all so eager to speak of what has occurred, and I DO want that, Craig, to know the full depths of their humiliation. I positively, obscenely LUST for that!!!"

"In the morning?" Garrison asked eagerly. Then he exclaimed in exasperation, thumping the table hard enough to make the off-kilter bottle, sitting astride a valley and a peak, list to one side and almost fall. "And she couldn't have just TOLD me that??"

Meghada snorted again, reaching out to steady the bottle, shifting it to a safer position after pouring each of them another drink.

"Apparently not, though Teya says we shouldn't judge too harshly; that with our tempers, yours and mine, with it being Goniff and the guys at stake, the Grandmother was concerned we'd both show up and things would 'get out of hand'. Maybe put a crimp in her perfectly organized and detailed plan, or at least be rather 'untidy'. 

"And as much as I would like for you and I to be there, to hear and see all that transpires, even I have to admit that would be an unbelievably bad idea. Craig! She is taking center stage herself, the Grandmother! We would only distract from the explosive impact she is bound to have.

"I gather her intended mode of action for tomorrow is something on the order of holding an anvil over an ant nest, getting their attention, and saying "ah, look up here, please. Yes, that's right. It IS an anvil, yes; quite large, quite heavy, in fact. And can you GUESS what happens next, if I let go?? Perhaps we might come to some accord to avoid that?" That sounds like her, and I do hate to miss it. She is quite masterful, quite ruthless when the occasion calls for it, in defense of the Clan and those associated with the Clan, and thankfully, she feels this situation DOES call for it.

"But I'm told, while we can't be there, to rest assured there is no question of the outcome. Her demands are both quite specific and sure of being met. It would seem the Grandmother has been taking names, keeping records, for quite a long time, and is really and truly pissed! And Craig? If it helps any? Gives you any more reassurance in her ability to deal with them? I've been told MY temper and resolve are similar in nature to hers, but with mine being a much milder version. I think we can have confidence that she will be successful. We will get a call as soon as the meeting ends."

Her eyes were shining now, glowing, whirling just a little in that display that came with deep emotion of one sort or another, then more and more until the effect was quite dizzying.

"And, Craig? Teya says we should be ready to receive them within three days. Perhaps two even, depending on arrangements and flying conditions! Two days, maybe three! Aie, Craig!!" And she laughed, fully and heartily, for the first time in two weeks, laughed in pure joy and anticipation.

He laughed joyfully as well, picking her up and whirling her around. 

Then he looked around frantically, "the list! Where's the list? Two or three days - there's a lot to get done! And we have to check the pantry, make sure we have enough supplies! You KNOW he's going to be starved when he gets home!"

It was only later, while they were both exhausted from trying to accomplish as much from that list as possible, both because time was short and it all needed doing but also because keeping themselves busy kept them from pacing and perhaps from worrying too much, that he thought to ask her what had crossed his mind on far too many occasions over the past two weeks.

"You disappointed her, angered her with refusing to become her Heir. Did it ever worry you, after this all happened, that she might either refuse to help us, or even might sit back and gloat, watching us run in circles? That NO one would help us, for fear of getting on her wrong side?"

Her eyes grew wide, then she shook her head firmly. Sometimes she forgot, with each of her men, that while they knew a great deal about the Clan now, certainly more than most Outlanders, there was still so much they did not know, did not understand. There was much they would never know, considering the long, very long history of the Clan. Still, they needed to understand as much as possible; they would be dealing with the Clan, the intricacies, the nuances, from now on. So she tried to explain to Craig; Goniff was less of an issue, having more of an instinctive understanding of many of the things Craig still struggled with.

"No, I could never see that happening. No matter how annoyed she might be with me - and frankly, it is less than she pretends, though she'll never admit that - she knows I wouldn't have done nearly as good a job as Ruena, the one she finally did select as her Heir, will do. She is far too good a leader, Craig, to be that petty, and she knows the people she leads far, far too well, knows our history too well to stride into THAT rockfall."

She paused, then sat in one of the big chairs, and motioned him to sit in the other, determining how to explain what was so obvious to her. After he'd settled, glass in hand, she continued.

"You see, while the Clan respects the current Grandmother, the person and the position, they also expect her to respect THEM, the Clan, to observe certain limits. And it is both within their power AND within their resolve to take action should she violate those limits. In fact, Sweet Mother Erdu expects that of us, without exception. We accept quirks, whims, the occasional pout or temper tantrum, misspeakings and such, various other like traits - a good leader is likely to have a few of those, you know, along with other more desirable characteristics. Being the one in charge doesn't mean you are no longer a mortal person with your own idiocentricities and failings, after all. But we do NOT accept corruption or venality, betrayal, or the putting of your personal interests, your own good, over the good of those you govern. That we cannot, WILL not allow."

"Has the Clan ever done that, stood against the Grandmother?" he asked, surprised somehow that the response was immediate - remarkably firm, no hesitation in the deliverance.

"Not this one, certainly, for she has never pushed nearly that far, nor can I imagine her ever doing so. Temperish, strong-willed she is, yes, shrieking Banshee as she is named and reputed to be - but devoted to the people and their welfare; I've never seen otherwise, nothing to say she puts her own desires above what is best for the Clan. 

"But it has happened - only once that I am aware of, though, in our entire history, in the very earliest of days. The backlash was harsh, and a new Grandmother, one blessed and appointed by Sweet Mother Erdu herself, took over after She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Spoken-Of-By-Name was deposed, made to see the error of her ways. At least, I would assume the latter, although that might just be an assumption on my part."

"What did she do - what did the Clan do?" Garrison asked, leaning back in his chair. Clan history was always interesting. Sometimes more than a little unsettling, but always interesting, and he was slowly relaxing to the point of wanting to hear the whole story. Maybe it was the release of tension, maybe the drink, maybe something else, a need to understand what was now part of his life. 

He swallowed hard, tensed once again, far more than before, relaxation now a thing of the past, realizing suddenly, {"if we ever have kids, any of those sharp-as-a-tack blonds and redheads we've all three laughed and teased about, this will BE their life. Spirit quests, Bondings, going furry or some other interesting variation. Weapons training, hand-to-hand, pick-pocketing, safe-cracking, scrying, conning, interaction with supposedly-mythological beings, walking the Moon Paths! Sweet Mother!!! Talk about a job needing a hero!! Goniff, you have GOT to get back here! I can't handle this on my own!!"}. 

Why all that just occurred to him out of the blue, he didn't know, when it should have been obvious all along, but it brought his stress level to a brand new, never before experienced high.

If Meghada noticed the panicked look on his face, she decided it was probably better she didn't ask, {"well, he does have the tendency to overreact sometimes, or so I've been told,"}, so she continued with her answer to his questions.

"She, the Grandmother, had been denied something, someONE she wanted, wanted quite badly - someone already Claimed by another. She seemed to accept the refusal with at least a modicum of grace, at least publicly, but then took steps to send those who had refused her on a trading expedition into dangerous territory. That would have not been an issue; everyone agreed a little extra space was probably a good thing on both sides. And they were Clan, quite capable of taking care of themselves, protecting the others in their care, at least under usual circumstances. 

"But the Grandmother had also given instructions, guidance, that would lead their enemies to them; had given those enemies weapons reserved for Clan use only, weapons that would limit the defense and leave the Clan members vulnerable. 

"That was, of course, an unpardonable offense, but she thought none would speak against her, declare the truth. She was wrong. That betrayal was discovered, thankfully in time, and steps taken to repel the attackers and eliminate the danger. Those in danger were brought to safety, and although she was furious at the intervention, still thought herself safe. She was the Grandmother; surely, even if they had the temerity to challenge her, her position would protect her, her authority would be sufficient to reduce the complaints to less importance than ashes swept out of the firepits. And the Council? She scoffed at the idea of them even thinking of reprimanding her - she controlled them, not the other way around!

"However, once all was known, the Clan, the people as a whole, issued a charge against her to the Council, and when the Council, in their cowardice, in their fear of retribution, hesitated to bring her to account for her actions, the Clan body, united in their determination, thought to draw straws as to who would act in their stead, Challenge her, act as their Champion on the Field of Challenge. 

"But, before that could happen, according to the scrolls, Sweet Mother Erdu, herself mightily offended at all that had transpired, intervened. 

"She laid the Cloak of Justice across the shoulders of a small girlchild, and the child, well under the age of seeking her Spirit Quest, stood before the Grandmother and the Council, and charged her loudly with betrayal of her people for self-benefit, and the Council for failure to perform their duty as their oaths required. 

"The woman seated in the chair of power laughed in scorn, told the child to "go home and attend to your lessons and play with your toys", that she didn't have time for such nonsense. 

"And the child replied, not cowed in the least by the figure seated on the seat of power, by the force embodied therein, "the Sweet Mother has decreed that no longer are you the Grandmother of the Clan. No longer shall your name be spoken, by any, and no child of the Clan will ever bear that name, for it is now Unclean."

"And there appeared a sword, flaming as bright as the sun, and the girlchild, not yet seven years of age, took up the sword and cut off the woman's head, removed her heart, and then proceeded to cut her into pieces that would each fit in a small cup. The pieces were then heaped up by a great swirl of wind, and the uplifted sword struck the pile, and it burst into flame.

"Those of the Council knelt in awe, and at her order, removed their chains of authority in acknowledgement of their shame and remorse at their dereliction of their duty, and those chains made their way through the air to drape around the necks of those who would now form the Council, a Council who held the proper respect for the Clan, and the people, and the Sweet Mother who guided them, those who could stand without fear before she who would now be the Grandmother and support her in her duty and keep her from falling awry.

"And that story is taught to each Clan member from an early age, and it is written large on a scroll that has remained on the wall of the personal chambers of the Grandmother, each of the Grandmothers, since that time, as well as being recited at the beginning of each year's term of office for the Council, so that all might be reminded of their duty, and to whom their loyalty truly belongs.

"So, no, Craig. I did not consider the Grandmother betraying us. I cannot believe the Sweet Mother would permit that, even if the Grandmother would be so lost to honor as to think in that direction, and I have seen no evidence of that being the case. She is testy, yes, and has a mighty temper, but her honor is shining and clean, without blemish that I have seen."

Craig swallowed. Yes, that was a Clan story, alright; met every qualification he could think of. He wondered if there were any of those motion sickness herbs still in the box where Meghada kept them for Goniff. Suddenly his stomach was feeling a bit twitchy. He had the feeling that those herbs might need to become a staple in their household medicine cabinet; it would seem more than one of the family had a twitchy stomach

He cleared his throat, "yes, well, I can see that having an impact." He took a quick swallow of the drink he'd brought in with him, seeing the amusement in her eyes. 

He thought about Goniff in a prison cell, the others of his team - Chief, Casino, Actor. Then he nodded, "well, hopefully that anvil will be an impressive image; while I can think of more than a few heads I wouldn't mind seeing get squashed like that, it would probably get messy. And you know Richards. He would probably scold," repeating something she'd said many a time, giving her a sly grin, one that, when she'd first met him, she would never have believed him capable of wearing.

"Probably, Craig, probably. You know how he feels about making a mess."

And, although weary, they once again consulted the list, and scurried to make sure all was in place to welcome home those who had been taken from them.

And if there was warmth shared when they finally sought their bed, it was of an innocent sort. He who would elevate warmth, comfort to something more, he was not yet with them. That would wait, and neither of them would question or argue with that. Soon, it would change, and that would be soon enough. Well, maybe not soon ENOUGH, but they'd somehow manage. The rewards were far too great to do otherwise.

Epilogue:

And so it was, after the men had returned home, after the welcoming and the exclaiming over the surprises waiting for them, followed by the feasting and laughing and talking, there came that opportunity Goniff had been looking forward to - privately sharing that revelation with Craig, about that special 'I Need A Hero' song, and who he felt it DID suit just fine. 

And the expression on Garrison's face as Goniff curled up in the armchair in the bedroom and softly sang those words in his raspy but still appealing voice, his eyes never leaving Garrison's, was everything Goniff had thought it would be, right down to the blush. Well, the words really WERE over the top - fitting, maybe, at least in Goniff's view, but still . . .

Craig shot a questioning look in Meghada's direction. She was busy brushing out her hair, but from the sheer amusement on her face, if he was looking for any discouragement or disapproval, looking to be rescued from this situation (not that he was all that sure that he WANTED to be rescued), he was looking in the wrong place. She didn't say a word, but that expression, that raised brow, was obviously a dare. 

{"Alright then."}

Craig turned back to Goniff, the look on his face getting more and more speculative.

"So, you want to be swept off your feet. You think you'd like that, do you?" Craig asked, a teasing note in his voice.

Goniff gave him an arch look, one brimming with mischief.

"Well, don't know for sure; never 'ad it 'appen before, 'ave I? Not even sure w'at the w'ole thing might involve. But it does sound like it might be interesting. Of course, like the song says, it'd take someone really special - a 'ero. A superman, no less. 'Olding out for someone like that, you know."

Craig shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around that song, what he saw in those blue eyes. His voice was a little husky as he moved forward.

"I'm no hero, Goniff. Certainly no superman. But I still think I might give it a try. I'll do my best, anyway. Like you say, it does sound interesting."

And that Superman T-shirt Goniff picked up for Garrison on his next trip to London? That seemed to indicate Garrison's best was just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> Song 'I Need A Hero', Bonnie Tyler. If you aren't familiar with the song, the vocal is available on YouTube. And yes, it is way over the top! And Goniff STILL thinks it suits perfectly!


End file.
